Sinister: Monday Poem

[poetry place2]

Ok! I was bound to get round to Carol Ann Duffy sometime in the Monday
poem. A lot of us reckon she'll be the next Poet Laureate when Big Ted pops
his clogs. This is one of her most famous poems, but I've chose it cos it's
also my favourite. It's fairly self-explanatory. It's from her last
collection "Mean Time", published by Anvil, which came out a coupla years
ago and won every prize going...

Trousers
xxxxx
The Poetry Society Website: http://www.poetrysoc.com

Carol Ann Duffy
Warming Her Pearls

Next to my own skin, her pearls. My mistress
bids me wear them, warm them, until evening
when I'll brush her hair. At six, I place them
round her cool, white throat. All day I think of her,

resting in the Yellow Room, contemplating silk
or taffeta, which gown tonight? She fans herself
whilst I work willingly, my slow heat entering
each pearl. Slack on my neck, her rope.

She's beautiful. I dream about her
in my attic bed; picture her dancing
with tall men, puzzled by my faint, persistent scent
beneath her French perfume, her milky stones.

I dust her shoulders with a rabbit's foot,
watch the soft blush seep through her skin
like an indolent sigh. In her looking-glass
my red lips part as though I want to speak.

Full moon. Her carriage brings her home. I see
her every movement in my head... Undressing,
taking off her jewels, her slim hand reaching
for the case, slipping naked into bed, the way

she always does... And I lie here awake,
knowing the pearls are cooling even now
in the room where my mistress sleeps. All night
I feel their absence and I burn.
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.             Listen, this is pish, I think I'll leave
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